


In Shadows and Secret Places

by buildthatwall (gliese581)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Being Rewritten, M/M, Original Fiction, Original Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-10-18
Updated: 2011-10-18
Packaged: 2017-10-24 18:18:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/266460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gliese581/pseuds/buildthatwall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The past is best kept in the shadows and hidden places where they belong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Shadows and Secret Places

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Events portrayed are of pure fiction and any similarity between this work of fiction and real events or individuals is unintentional.

A shiver ran down Hunter's spine as he sat in a concrete police interrogation room, barefoot and wearing just a thin t-shirt and an old pair of sweatpants. He wished the police had at least given him the common courtesy to grab his sneakers and a jacket. He'd just been about to fall asleep in his bed after a hellish week of working overtime, studying for two midterms, and overseeing a lab for an intro class, when the police crashed through his front door.

From the moment they threw him up against his bedroom wall – his jaw was still throbbing from the impact – and roughly handcuffed him while he was still in his sleep clothes, the cops hadn't even charged him with anything. They'd read him his rights, sure, but other than that, they'd been uncharacteristically tight-lipped. Even when they got to the station, he wasn't processed, just marched to an interrogation room and left to wait. Unless asking the stoners to leave the lab before they smashed up a room full of expensive workstations was a crime, Hunter didn't know why he was being detained. Maybe he'd thrown out the son of some cop.

Hunter almost jumped when the metal door swung open and hit the wall with a resounding **bang** , filling the room with the chatter of a hundred conversations. A burly-looking man in a blue _FBI SPECIAL AGENT_ windbreaker lumbered in like he owned the place. Behind him, a mousy guy in a hoodie and jeans, who Hunter was guessing was a tech, stepped into the room and shut the metal door, cutting the concrete cell off from the rest of the world again. It was disconcerting how easily the concrete silenced everything except what was going on inside the room.

The special agent dropped a blue folder onto the table in between them. Both chairs creaked as the men sat down.

"Do you know why you're here, Mr. Matheson?" The special agent didn't even lift his head as he asked, he just opened his file and grabbed a pen from his pocket.

"No, not really." Hunter replied, after a moment of awkward hesitation as the tech coughed and the special agent flipped a page in his file. "But I have a feeling you're going to tell me."

The tech pulled out a notepad from a messenger bag at his side as the special agent let out a bark of laughter. "Alright then. We know you attempted to hack into a restricted network and download half a dozen classified files."

After a beat, _"Excuse me?_ You guys think I did _what?_ " Hunter couldn't believe what he was hearing. He didn't know whether to cry or laugh. "There's got to be a mistake. I've been working all week. I didn't have time to hack into anything."

The special agent shot a look at the tech next to him. The tech sighed and leaned forward to face Hunter. "The database you tried to attack uploads a tracker on any unauthorized device trying to access it. We traced the address back to you and your laptop lit up when we ran a routine sweep."

Hunter rubbed a palm over his face. "Look, _if_ I was some hacker and I was trying to do what you're saying I allegedly did, I'd be bouncing around dozens of different proxies and I sure as hell wouldn't be using my own computer." The special agent's eyes were starting to glaze over, not a good sign in anyone's book. "Isn't it a bit odd everything just fell into your lap?"

"Look, kid. There're enough cards stacked against you that what we're doing right here" – the special agent waved a thick hand between them – "is a courtesy. We can have you moved to a federal detention facility without you so much as setting foot in a courthouse." The man turned his file so Hunter could see it.

Marked across the top of the page was:

**Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act (FISA) – Application** # HM-T4537JY5  
 **Approved** 4/12/2025  
The Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Court (FISC) grants temporary authorization to the

FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION

in regards to the matter of the surveillance of Subject:

HUNTER LAWRENCE MATHESON  


Hunter felt cold dread settle in his spine. He couldn't stop thinking, _this can't be happening._ He didn't know how to respond without screaming.

"Look, you said it yourself. If you were the mastermind behind this attack you wouldn't be sitting here discussing it with me." The FBI agent watched him carefully as he spoke. "We're willing to lower the charges against you to _accessory to commit an illegal act_ if you tell us everything you know." The man flipped to another page in his file.

Hunter stared for a minute before speaking. "I don't know anything about this. Look, I was either in a library or the undergraduate computer lab all month. I barely slept and barely ate for the last three weeks. I don't know _anything._ Okay?"

The special agent slammed his pen on the table and ran a hand through his graying hair. If Hunter was a little suicidal, he could almost say the man looked the part of a petulant six-year-old about to throw a temper tantrum. Or equivalently, the douchebag jocks that littered campus like hyenas.

"You're looking at terrorism charges and we're willing to drop them for a slap-on-the-wrist. You tell us what you know, now."

"I don't know anything." The tech's head snapped up in surprise and shot a fearful glance towards the agent at his side when Hunter spoke. Hunter trudged on despite the look. "If I knew something I'd tell you, but I have no idea what you're talking about."

A growl escaped the special agent's mouth as he lunged to his feet. "Listen, you scrawny little punk! You think we're playing around here? You tell me who else was involved or I'll throw your bony ass in a cell until you beg for a chance talk!"

"What part of 'I don't know' don't you understand? I don't know!" Hunter jerked his head back onto his chair and stared at the ceiling in frustration. Trying to talk with the man was like arguing with a brick wall.

"Bullshit! We all know that you know something about the attack!"

Everyone jumped when the thick metal door slammed open and a man in a dark jacket walked into the room carrying a backpack. The FBI Special Agent carried an aura of intimidation because of his size, but this man exuded both calculating disinterest and intimidation through his body language.

"Who the fuck do think you are?" The man didn't even raise an eyebrow at the demand. He just tossed a paper at the FBI special agent in response. "Hey! I'm talking to you asshole!"

"You don't need to know who I am. All you need to know is that you're holding a written order from your Director and the Attorney General to hand jurisdiction over to me." The man didn't even wait for a response as he walked towards Hunter, dropping his pack on the table with a dull **thud** along the way.

The special agent quickly read over the paper he was tossed and his face did a series of complex contortions. Hunter watched the man's face turn purple with barely contained rage as he threw the paper to the tech. It looked like he was going to explode.

The man crouched and unlocked the steel handcuffs tying Hunter's wrists together without even sparing a look at the other people in the room. Hunter rubbed a hand over one of his raw wrists as the man stood back up.

"Here, put these on." He zipped open his pack and tossed a pair of hiking boots from inside to Hunter, who barely caught the projectile. When he finished lacing the boots, Hunter was given a jacket, also pulled from the pack.

Hunter didn't know what to think. On one hand, he's being taken away from the interrogation and its unending cycle of being asked the same question over and over. On the other hand, the man's questioning might be even worse than the FBI's – despite the clothing and boots. If anything, this turn of events made Hunter more worried than relieved.

"You will hand over all material regarding him," the man pointed down towards Hunter, "to a team that will be here to collect them in the morning. You will also drop your investigation, effective immediately." Hunter's new jailer grabbed his upper arm in a constricting grip and pulled him up.

Without even looking, the man led Hunter out of the dark room. Hunter heard a crash from the room and he didn't need to be psychic to know the police were going to have to replace a chair. Hunter felt awkward as the station fell into a hushed silence and police officers openly gawked at him as he passed.

It was still dark out as they stepped into the cold outside the precinct. Even though it was April, the air was uncharacteristically cold by Seattle standards. Every breath created a plume of white fog in front of them. Hunter was glad he had a jacket, even if it was borrowed.

"Uh. I guess I should thank you for getting me out of there." His companion didn't answer. The man just unlocked a black Ford Expedition and motioned Hunter to get in. Before he climbed in, Hunter couldn't help noticing that the plates were labeled "Diplomatic – United Nations" in bold black letters.

Hunter didn't know how the UN was able to come to his legal rescue, but he didn't want to find out. He was more worried about how a federal crime he was being charged with was now potentially an international one.

As they pulled away from the station in silence, Hunter discreetly began examining the other man under the glow of the streetlights. Hunter found an ordinary looking guy who looked maybe five or six years older than he was. The only really distinctive features were the man's head of ink-black hair, dark enough to look like it sucked up all light, and hard gray eyes.

Hunter was unnerved when they pulled up to his apartment building – even though he never gave the other man his address. Hunter must have shown something on his face because the man spoke up after he parked and Hunter stepped out of the truck.

"I can't help you if you get in trouble again, Hunter." When Hunter remembered his jacket and shoes were borrowed, the man continued. "I'll have your laptop sent to you by the end of the week and keep the stuff I gave you." As Hunter opened his mouth, the truck revved up and pulled away from the curb.

"Thanks?"

***

Hunter punched an access code into the apartment building's security terminal, hoping against hope that the code was still valid and he wouldn't have to freeze to death out in the cold.

Hunter let out a grateful sigh as the heavy-duty lock disengaged with a sharp clang and low buzz. He pushed the thick security door open and quickly stepped into the shelter of the well-lit lobby. Forgoing the elevator, Hunter climbed the single flight of stairs up to his floor in silence.

Remembering he didn't even have his keys on him – the cops had been adamant that he go with them as quickly as possible – Hunter rapped his fist on the door marked 115 and prayed his roommate was still awake. Nothing short of a foghorn going off next to his head would wake Aaron up at the best of times.

Hunter's prayers were answered, for once, and the door swung open to reveal his surprised roommate. Hunter didn't even wait for an invitation to come in; he just pushed the blond out of the way and made his way into the warm apartment.

"How'd you get home? Or more importantly, _what the hell, man?_ " Hunter didn't answer as he pulled off his borrowed boots. He really just wanted to fall into his warm bed and sleep for a day.

Never the kind of guy to let silence deter him, Aaron followed Hunter into the bathroom as the other man grabbed a toothbrush. "The cops didn't tell me anything after they took you to the precinct. But they sent like five CSI dudes and they totally tore your room apart. You look like shit, by the way."

Hunter paused in his brushing when he registered his reflection as he looked up at his friend. His brown hair was oily and matted to his scalp, his green eyes were bloodshot, and he had rings around his eyes that a raccoon would envy. So, a little worse than a usual midterm prep week.

Hunter rinsed his mouth before answering Aaron's remark; his mother would be proud he didn't try talking with a mouthful of toothpaste. "I've been studying like crazy for the last two weeks, was sitting in a cell for three hours, and _interrogated by the FBI_ , how should I look Aaron? Let me tell you, refreshed shouldn't be at the top of your list."

" _The FBI?_ I thought it was just SPD! What the hell did you do?" Hunter just stared at him.

"Did you happen to use my laptop lately? Maybe download some crap?" Now that he was out of the cell, Hunter wanted to find out how this mess all started. The only thing he could think of was that his computer was somehow compromised and a hacker used it as a proxy. And the only way that could have happened is if someone else had used his laptop.

Aaron looked at him funny for a second before opening his mouth. "Dude, I know better than to _breathe_ on that thing. Why? Dude, did they take you downtown for some porn on your laptop or something?"

"No. But apparently my laptop did something it shouldn't have." Hunter dropped his toothbrush into his plastic cup and straightened his other toiletries. He needed to do _something_ to make his mom proud.

"Are you in deep shit right now?" Hunter slipped out of the bathroom and headed to the small kitchen. His mouth was dry and he needed a glass of water.

"They thought I committed cyber terrorism last week"

Aaron immediately burst out into his annoying laugh that reminded Hunter of a donkey. Hunter didn't see how all of this was a laughing matter. Aaron barely got out a question through his laughter. "No, seriously, what did you do?"

"Dude, I'm tired. I'll tell you everything tomorrow." Hunter grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and headed to his room before Aaron stopped him. "Dude, your room is completely trashed, there's no way you can sleep in there."

"It can't be that bad." Hunter opened his door and froze when he saw the inside of his room.

It looked like his room was hit by a F5 tornado. His bedframe was disassembled, the mattress was pushed up against the wall, and the box spring was upturned near the closet. The floor wasn't in better shape either. It was a veritable minefield of thick textbooks, trash, clothes, and the contents of his desk drawers.

"You're gonna have to take the couch. We can probably salvage your comforter and pillow."

As he lay in the dark living room, Hunter thought that sleeping on the old, worn couch was a fitting end to the worst day of his life.


End file.
